


The Gaza Talk

by m_meagher



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Gaza, Santos Administration, The West Wing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27726184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_meagher/pseuds/m_meagher
Summary: Josh and Donna are new into their dating relationship and still haven’t broached “The Talk.” So what happens in a rare moment of vulnerability when Josh decides to clear the air between them about all the unspoken tension after Gaza?
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	The Gaza Talk

It was 7:30 on Friday evening, and Josh Lyman found a rare moment of sanity to leave the transition offices at a respectable hour. He silenced the chirping of his BlackBerry, shoved it in his pocket, then allowed himself one more glance at the mountain of briefs on his desk. They could wait until Monday. The reformed workaholic was learning.

Josh’s tense muscles began to unclench as he exited the temporary Santos command post and felt the swell of a brisk January twilight rush into his pores. This time of night, the D.C. streets were alive and electric with tourists flushed from a glimpse of the White House, law students en route to the Georgetown bar scene, and politicos keen to either toast their victories or nurse their grievances after a day on the Hill.

But Josh barely noticed the city pulse around him. Nor could the below-freezing temperature slow his frenetic, eager pace. And when he turned the key to his brownstone ten minutes later, Josh made no effort to conceal his dopey grin. This Friday would not be spent alone with a carton of takeout, a droning C-SPAN broadcast and a tumbler of scotch. Tonight’s plans were different...because Donatella Moss was inside.

The corners of his mouth lifted even higher at the sound of a pitchy, toneless rendition of some ‘80s rock ballad echoing from the kitchen. Donna was no singer, but she had other talents, he mused with a smirk. After dumping his briefcase and overcoat in the foyer, then shuffling down the hall, Josh paused in the entrance of his kitchen to marvel at the sight before him. With dinner on the stove, a glass of wine on the counter and a bounce in her movements, Donna looked effortlessly at home.

In the past several weeks since their return from Hawaii, she had built as much of a domestic routine for them as two White House staffers might ever come close to, and transformed his domain into something they now shared. Josh loved it—the changes felt easy, natural...right. He could watch her like this for a lifetime.

“If it isn’t the soon-to-be Chief of Staff,” she wisecracked breezily without turning around. Heat bristled on the outer rim of his ears. How long had she known he was there? “Yeah, umm...just appreciating the view,” he teased back in hopes she would not sense his embarrassment, and Donna threw him a toothy smile over her shoulder. Compliment received. _Still got_ _it,_ _Lyman._ This banter made his heart leap. It was so quintessentially them.

An hour later, they migrated to the couch, Donna tucked into Josh’s chest with his arm slung across her frame. She wore his threadbare Harvard sweatshirt and took a swig of wine. Josh smoothed her flaxen hair, a simple but sensual gesture from his countless fantasies over the course of their nine-year working relationship. It was almost unbelievable that he had permission to touch her so intimately now.

Their dinner plates stained with marinara were stacked on the coffee table, and a bottle of chardonnay was just within their reach. Neither had any reason to move for the rest of this night, so in a state of inebriated ease, Josh squared his chin and resolved to broach “The Talk.” It was a topic Donna wanted to hash out weeks ago, but vulnerability had never been his forte. They agreed to shelf the discussion in Hawaii since other physical activities took precedence, but here they were a month later, continual fixtures in one another’s lives yet still inching around The Talk. It was time—and Josh knew where to start.

“How’s your leg?” Josh murmured, as his fingers tentatively brushed the curve where Donna’s hipbone met her thigh. He was all too aware of the risky terrain this conversation might nose-dive into. She rarely mentioned Gaza or the tension that escalated between them in its aftermath, but it hung in their peripheries, a smokescreen curtain they both sensed was there but refused to acknowledge. _We are a force in politics but a lost cause in communication,_ Josh thought ruefully and not for the first time.

On unconscious impulse, Donna’s hand flew to the scars on her thigh. They were faint now, but the memories of that injury remained sharp as ever. The Gaza crisis was in their past, just one more knot in the tangled rope of all this shared history, but Josh never seemed willing to discuss it. She learned to stow those emotional and physical aches somewhere in the depths of her mind, so when Josh asked his question, Donna could not form the words. “It’s...umm...I think...there will always be soreness...in the winter especially...but...no more limping...at least,” she faltered. But to her shock, Josh listened.

“I’m sorry,” came the response in a voice so soft and broken she almost missed it. Josh with the infamous guilt complex—she might have known that would be his reaction. As usual, her first instinct was to placate him, but Josh’s mouth ran fifteen steps ahead of hers. “I’m sorry, Donna. I sent you on the CODEL. I was familiar with the dangers in Gaza, and I stuck you with that mission regardless. All you asked for was career growth, and because of me, you almost—” He could not bear to finish the sentence, nor was he given a chance. Donna heard about all she could stomach before interrupting his tirade.

“ _That_ is what you’ve chosen to apologize for, Joshua Lyman?” Her eyes blazed a dark cobalt, and she whirled to face him on the couch, instantly sober. “I wanted the Gaza trip, dammit. I twisted your arm for more opportunities, and I have no regrets in this area. But how do you think it felt back home in D.C., watching you freeze me out? You can board a flight to Germany and move into my hospital room, but you can’t bother to check on me from the bullpen? Charlie made a point to come see me. Kate Harper told me that she was available to talk. But you ignored me, Josh—my closest friend, the man I loved. It was like Landstuhl never happened.”

She sucked in oxygen and tasted the brine of her tears. Josh perched next to her, silent and motionless for once. With his full attention locked on her, Donna continued. “In the weeks after Rosslyn, I brought lunch to your apartment and monitored how much work Toby, Sam or C.J. were allowed to heap on you. I went to Leo with my concerns about PTSD, and I drove you to the ER for those stitches in your hand. I taped Stanley Keyworth’s number to my desk in case you had another episode. I wanted you to offer me the same care. Out of everyone in the SUV—Admiral Fitzwallace, the two Congressmen—I was the only one not killed. I am alive, and they aren’t. It was hell to process. How could you miss that?”

“But then you...left,” Josh rasped, feeling his own tears spill over. “Yeah. I quit and joined the Russell campaign,” Donna softened. “Not as an act of betrayal though. I had to leave the White House and learn to trust _my_ political acumen. It was our only chance to be together. To earn your respect, to see us both as equals. I always planned on returning to your side, Josh. It’s what we do for each other.”

He raised her fingers to his lips. Donna was right, of course, about the entirety of their relationship. He deserved none of her, but she had chosen all of him. “Remember that time in my office? It was your first morning back after Germany. I told you that I wanted to stop taking ‘blood donors’ in my life for granted.” Donna smiled at the mental image—she remembered. “Well...I meant it. Still do.” _And now we can cross that part of The Talk off our list._

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own these characters. The indomitable Aaron Sorkin does—I’m just an admirer of the relationships and the world he’s created. Also this is my first stab at writing fan-fiction for public consumption, so please be gentle with feedback!


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